


Pretty Little Thing

by rustingroses



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Bucky Barnes is a gentleman, Clint the makeup artist, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Dysphoria, Happy endings though, Multi, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Transvengers Initiative, discussions of genderfluidity, genderfluid!Steve, the best bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't known there was a word for it, his secret. He thought he'd left those days where he'd felt more female than male, and kept a dress in the back of his closet, behind him.</p><p>She hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Little Thing

“God above, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

Steve’s had those words crooned against every part of her body. Bucky used to whisper them as he kissed across Steve’s collarbones and unbuttoned her dress, used to breathe them against her slim ankles and heels, used to gasp them as he hiked up Steve’s skirts and stroked her cock. The words were a promise, a gift, rare and precious. Any other time, those words might’ve infuriated her because she - he, most days - wasn’t frail, Buck, you act like I’m going to just keel over on the street, like I’m going to just stand back and let those asses talk to that lady like they own her simply because I’ve got a bit of a cough, now move out of my way before I move you.

Bucky never looked particularly impressed at those rants, letting Steve’s anger slide off him and fall to the ground, completely ineffectual, and continued to insist on providing Steve backup so that he wouldn’t have his ass handed to himself. It made Steve want to tackle him to the ground sometimes, just to prove that he could do it, please and thank you, but even Steve wasn’t bullheaded enough to get into a fistfight over something this stupid with his best friend.

Well, not again at any rate. Despite his small stature, he  _had_ grown up.

Right now, though, Steve wasn’t a man, too short, too thin, too soft in most places and too bony in all the rest, with a crooked spine and bad lungs and a heart that can’t keep up -

“I can hear you thinking, my pretty little thing,” Bucky growled, and Steve arched, lashes fluttering closed and yanked back into the present by nothing more than judicious application of Bucky’s lips to his nipples and those words vibrating through her skin to settle someplace deep and secret and safe. Though Steve rarely felt courageous enough to slip into one of his mama’s old dresses and let Bucky call her his babydoll, his precious girl, his pretty little thing, when Steve came to him, Bucky left no pieces of skin unadmired. “What, I’m not giving you enough to focus on?”

“Of course y-you are,” Steve panted, thighs trembling from the achingly slow handjob. Bucky always focused on that spot right beneath her head when she wore her dresses, thumb rubbing steady little circles against those sensitive nerves like it really did belong to a woman. “You’re - fuck, please, right there,” she gasped out, head tossing back and forth. Her dress, worn-thin and patched in places, since they didn’t dare purchase a new one, stuck to her back in the summer heat and gaped a little oddly at her front where her chest remained flat. Her sweat-damp hair curled around her ears a little, and Bucky leaned in to kiss up her throat to her earlobe, tongue flicking out over her skin, and Steve couldn’t focus on the strangeness of letting this out, or the strangeness of skirts swishing around her legs. She could only to focus on being cradled in Bucky’s arms.

“Oh, you’re sweet like candy,” Bucky purred, just the slightest hint of teasing to his voice as he kept up his slow movements on her cock. “Stevie, I gotta tell you that there isn’t a dame that looks prettier’n you. Not a one that looks as good, tastes as good, smells as good. I just gotta tell you,” he added in a softer voice, pulling away so their eyes could meet. Steve blinked at the seriousness in Bucky’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous, always. No matter what.”

Steve closed her own eyes, heart too full. Bucky knew her secrets, knew how to touch Steve’s body in dresses and shirts, knew how to reassure her that sliding into a woman’s clothes didn’t make her any more disgusting than loving Bucky did. In this moment, it didn’t matter that Bucky thought her wearing dresses was just like the other queers they knew; Bucky didn’t realize that she was she, not he wearing his mama’s dress and playing dress-up for the sake of getting called someone’s girl for the night. The only thing that mattered was the gentle insistence in Bucky’s voice and the way it made Steve smile and pull him down into a kiss.

~*~

Steve tried not to think about buttoning up a dress or soft touches on his cock that left him trembling with desire. That was for a different man, in a different life, and there was no room for that strange, sick desire to creep over him and remind him of how sweet Bucky sounded when he called Steve a swell dame. Steve hadn’t felt it all that often before, but now he couldn’t afford it at all.

He had missions to complete, people to protect, and Bucky at his side.

He was lucky.

He didn’t like to look in mirrors, though, not with this tall, broad body so different from his previous soft planes, because he could never catch sight of anyone’s pretty little thing in his reflection.

He was the man he’d always strove to be.  It’d be enough.

~*~

Steve didn’t know what broke in him. It might have been the moment he realized down to his bones that everyone that mattered had either died or been lost to him. It shouldn’t have hit him this suddenly, not on a Wednesday afternoon with the sunlight streaming in through his apartment window in DC, and yet he couldn’t breathe, an echo of asthma constricting his lungs despite everything. Jim’s flourishing restaurant. Gabe’s children, and grandchildren. Peggy’s grief when she saw him again for the first time over and over and _over_. And what was Steve left with? An empty home, a hundred losses for every victory, out at sea with no way to row back to shore. He’d sacrificed everything. Steve made a noise in the back of his throat, hot and choked. They’d lived full lives while he’d - he’d - she’d -

She opened her laptop, fingers shaking as she typed in the term, “1930s dresses.” Within minutes she had a dozen tabs open, plus ones for panties, garters, stockings, and bras. She had a fortune in back pay, and no one could tell her where to spend it, or how, or judge her for what she bought. She could take this one thing for herself, let this one part of her be free after years locking it away, denying herself. It hadn’t been so bad in the beginning when she’d made the decision, because she’d never felt the desire to be this way all the time, but it had built inside her, wearing her down, water over stone until her defenses were finer than sand and the waves crashed upon the shore. She wanted to be _her_ , for just a little while, so that maybe she could stop feeling so strange in her own skin.

She could wear pretty dresses, and silk stockings, and heels without anyone even being the wiser if she kept it behind closed doors. She could even wear makeup, purchase wigs. She could stare into a mirror and see a woman’s reflection some days instead of a man’s, a woman worth smiling at. She scrubbed at her face to erase any trace of her tears, focusing on cut and cloth rather than how tiny and frail Peggy’s hand had felt in hers when last they’d touched. She gasped on another restrained sob as she worked, reclaiming something, anything. Please, anything. There had to be a dress out there, or a skirt, something that would turn this body to lush curves and inviting warmth.

Despite her efforts, the ghost of Peggy’s grip clung to Steve’s hand as she worked, heart constricting. She filled her online shopping carts to overflowing, too impatient to even take proper measurements of her own before purchasing. Instead, she used what she’d seen doctors and nurses scribble down about her body, this stranger’s body of hard muscle and masculinity, this stranger’s body that she’d never let become hers, because she’d sacrificed being a pretty little thing to do what she’d known was right and just because she didn’t regret it didn’t mean that she couldn’t feel loss.

That’s when the grief came, in horrible waves, grief for the time she’d had ripped from her, and the people, for the way she’d spent so long as he out of necessity, because there was nothing pretty about war and she couldn’t fail for a second, and she’d risked enough stealing kisses from Bucky, carving out brief hours for them to spend together, and this body wasn’t hers, wasn’t easy and fun to dress even if all she had was her mama’s cast-offs, wasn’t made of ambiguous lines, wasn’t and couldn’t accept _being_ hers the way her old skin had, and she’d never, _ever_ be Bucky’s pretty little thing again.

When her boxes arrived, she didn’t even open them. She couldn’t. She knew they’d stretch weirdly over her shoulders, sit uncomfortably on her hips. She’d look like a man wearing women’s clothing, nothing pretty about her.

Nothing pretty at all.

So he sat them, one after another, in the back of his closet, and tried to move on.

~*~

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

~*~

When Steve returned from his latest mission, he found Natasha already sprawled on his couch, feet propped on the end, book in her hand. “No Sam?” Natasha asked casually, raising a brow at him. Steve thought about being angry for a moment at the intrusion, and then smiled, mouth quirking. He actually rather liked being one of the few people that Natasha trusted enough to let down her defenses around, and coming home to someone, even someone unexpected, was surprisingly nice.

“No, he decided that he ought to make sure that his house hadn’t gained four inches of dust in the last few weeks,” Steve said. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

“I made myself some lunch with everything that was about to go bad, and threw out everything that had already gone bad,” Natasha replied. “So you’re out of, well, pretty much everything that was in your fridge. You really ought to get better about not stocking up before you go out on a mission. Especially not with cheese or fruit. I swear the mold almost sat up and waved at me.” She wrinkled her nose. “You so owe me for that.”

Steve made a face. “Well, considering that I generally don’t know when I’m going out on a mission until a few hours before I actually do, there isn’t much to be done. Even I can’t eat that much in so short a time. At least some of it didn’t go to waste.” He’d have to start buying enough for only a few days; he hated wasting food. Steve set down his shield, and pulled off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. “I’m going to go shower, do you need anything from me?”

Natasha shook her head, then paused, considering. “Not as such? It’s more of a general statement, and you can take it as you’d like. You know how I said I don’t know everything, I just act like I do?”

Steve eyed her warily. “Yeah?”

“Well, that doesn’t mean that I haven’t figured out plenty of secrets.” Her gaze, surprisingly kind, flicked up to meet his. “It’s easier, usually, when the person’s secret is one that I get, or that I carry myself. So I just wanted to tell you that you’re not alone, Steve. I know what it’s like, to look in the mirror and not even recognize your body, or to live in a skin that doesn’t seem quite right.” Her gaze shifted back to her book, and she turned a page. “Sometimes, trying to get your outside to match your insides is hardest of all, and if I can help, I will.”

Steve stared at her, but to all appearances, Natasha had gone back to being engrossed in her book. He opened his mouth and shut it twice, and then said weakly, “But… I’m not…”

“I’m not looking for details,” Natasha dismissed, never glancing up. “Not if you don’t want to give them. I recognize the signs, though, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to let you know that you’re not alone, and hey, whatever the feelings behind your discomfort with the way your body is right now, they’re valid. I understand.” She finally looked up at him smiling a little. “Clint and Phil spent a lot of time telling me that, and making sure that I had a steady place to stand while I figured out why I felt that way, and what I could do to help it go away. I still am figuring things out, I think, but…” She shrugged, one hand lifting to her necklace and fingering the arrow a little. “I wanted to pass that forward. You’re valid, and though I’m not great at the whole ‘talking about feelings’ thing, but I’ll listen. In fact, I bet if you talked to Sam about it, or Clint, they’d listen too.” She turned back to her book at last. “Whenever you’re ready, there are people waiting to listen. You’re not alone in feeling this way, and there are plenty of people who want to support you if you just give them a chance.”

Steve had to clear his throat. He thought of all the dresses and padded bras and silk stockings with the seams up the back that were hidden in his closet. He thought about the days where she could look at his reflection and be proud of it and what it allowed her to do no matter the sacrifice, and other days when she couldn’t stand it, and managed a smile. “Thanks, Natasha.”

“Anytime. Now go shower, you reek of explosives.”

~*~

They found Bucky, or maybe Bucky found them.

He - they - didn’t know how to touch each other anymore. They didn’t know how to speak, how to share space, how to share nightmares or dreams, how to fight without breaking the apartment or their belongings or themselves.

Steve still couldn’t look into a mirror and see Bucky’s pretty little thing anymore, and now he couldn’t look at Bucky and see the charming, laughing young man who wanted nothing more than to take Steve out on his arm for all to see, either.

It had all been stolen away.

~*~

“I need your help.” Steve paced back and forth in her bedroom, phone in a white-knuckled grip. She shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have caved to the temptation. Bucky had left for therapy more than twenty minutes ago, and within a minute of him leaving, she had opened up every box in her closet, bras and shoes and skirts strewn everywhere. She couldn’t resist any longer, couldn’t think of soft cotton and patent leather and lace hidden away. She’d wanted to just - just touch, for a bit, and then she’d opened the boxes and seen everything, and seen just how it would look on her -

The panic made it hard to breathe, the pain of it clenching her heart, her stomach, until she wanted to throw up. “None of it - it’s not right. Natasha, it’s, I can’t figure out how to make it look right.” She hated the way her voice broke. She hated her broad chest and nonexistent hips and the fact that nothing fell on her frame the way it ought. She began her next circuit of the room. “Bucky’s gone, and I thought, I thought this would be the perfect time to, to do all this, to try again while he wouldn’t have to see, but it’s going all wrong, and I don’t know what to do. You’re a girl, you know about this stuff, you’ve got to come help. Please. It’s not _right_.” Her voice cracked again, and she loathed the anguish in her voice, the way it had built up over years and ripped its way out of her.

Natasha didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be there in fifteen with Clint.”

Steve sputtered, “Clint? But - ”

“Clint puts every other makeup professional I’ve known to shame, and he knows how to do a girl’s face up right. You want me to help? Trust me, by bringing along Clint, I’m definitely helping.”

Distantly, over the phone line, she could hear Clint start to shout, “Frame the face!  _Frame the face_ !” Then the line cut off, and Steve was left to stare at it, perplexed, the panic cut off at the knees by her abrupt dismissal coupled with Natasha and Clint’s enthusiastic reactions. She found herself organizing things for their arrival automatically, sorting clothes and shoes and underthings with alacrity.

Twenty minutes later, her door rattled and Clint and Natasha burst in, arms full of bags, startling Steve into grabbing her shield and running out into the living room to stare. Strangely, the first thing that left her mouth was, “I didn’t give you a key,” even as she set down her shield and moved to grab some of the bags and welcome them inside.

“I know. That’s why I had one made,” Natasha replied, voice adding a clear, _You idiot_. She handed off half her bags to Steve, and then shooed Steve in the direction of her bedroom. “We’ve brought all my - ”

“ - Our!” Clint interjected, scowling.

“Our makeup,” Natasha amended with a roll of her eyes. “We’ve brought our makeup, brushes, lotions, extra razors and shaving cream since we didn’t know if you’d want to shave your legs or anything, I know that wasn’t really popular before you died but it’s a nice feeling regardless,” she said briskly. “I also brought some of the false breasts I use when I need to go up a few sizes so we’ll have something to fill out your bras, assuming you bought bras. What else…” She frowned a little, thinking.

“Cake,” Clint added. “We brought cake with lemon curd filling and raspberry buttercream frosting and chick flicks because if we’re going to throw a party like this, it’s really going to be a party. Come on, you can tell us where to start, and we can make sure you get all dressed up in time for James to get back with Sam. We’ll have him falling over his feet to ask you out on a date.” He waggled his brows and pulled out the cake, going to set it in the kitchen.

“It’s - it’s not like that. Not anymore. We haven’t even kissed, now, I mean we kissed before, and well, more, but we haven’t kissed since I got him back,” Steve stammered. “I don’t even know if he remembers, honestly, things have been so - I just - Bucky’s still healing, it wouldn’t be fair to put something like that on him, even though we had it before - everything. He didn’t even know about it, back then, he just thought I liked the feel of it, liked being his...um, girl.” Steve shivered a little, uncomfortable and unable to meet their eyes. “Anyways, he deserves to figure out for himself if that’s even something he wants. I’m not going to be the one to take any more choices away from him by expecting him to fall back into a relationship with me, and I don’t have any plans to let him see me like this.”

“Like what?” Natasha asked, raising a brow. “Like yourself? As a  brave, selfless, genderfluid, kind person? As the same Steve that Yasha grew up knowing and loving? Being who you are hasn’t made you less of a hero. In fact, the way I understand it, being who you are generally makes you more of one, no matter what people try to say to cut you down. You’re healing too, Steve. You’re allowed to heal, allowed to need things, and need people.” She crossed her arms across her chest, and then raised a brow for good measure. “And it’s pretty dumb, honestly, to hide your genderfluidity from him. It’s part of who you are, and an important part. I also think he’d react to you being a woman some days with a lot more grace than you’re willing to credit him with. He’s damaged. He’s hurt. He’s a lot of things. But the core of who he is? It hasn’t changed. It survived.”

Steve took a deep breath, trying to figure out what to say. She ended up whispering. “What’s that?”

“What’s - ” Natasha’s brow creased in confusion, and then she said in surprise, “Oh! Genderfluid, you mean? It means that you identify as both male or female depending on the day or circumstance, or sometimes it means you identify as both male and female at the same time. Generally, they’re comfortable with their biological arrangement, as it were, but that’s not always the case.” She shrugged. “There’s a lot more discussion of sexual, romantic, and gender-based identities as something fluid, rather than a yes or no. I can get you some literature, if you’d like.”

Steve stood in the middle of the room, shivering and light-headed. “Genderfluid,” she said, to taste it. To give herself something to hold onto no matter what. Solid ground to stand on. A word that helped this all from spiraling out of control. “So it’s not, not weird? That sometimes I want to wear skirts and heels because I’m a woman, and sometimes I want to snap on my suspenders and wear a proper jacket because I’m man? That I can be both?”

“It’s not weird,” Natasha assured, smiling. “There are plenty of people who feel the exact same way. You’re still Steve, our friend, no matter your pronouns that day. Do you seriously think you can kick any less ass if you’re a woman?” She pursed her lips and raised her brows, and Steve found herself laughing a little despite herself.

Clint, leaning in the doorway, added, “And we really don’t give a shit either way. Well, I mean, we do because you basically sent out the Batsignal so we could get you dressed properly, but it’s not something we’re going to judge you on.” He pointed to the doorway to Steve’s bedroom. “Although I’ll totally judge you if you come out of that room looking like some sort of 80s music video reject. So come on. Chick flicks and some quality time going through your clothes is in order.” He shooed Natasha and Steve to the bedroom, putting on Vampire Academy on the laptop before beginning to look through the makeup he’d brought.

“Oh my God, Clint, you have the _trashiest_ taste in movies,” Natasha complained as the movie started up and she began rustling through the skirts strewn about on Steve’s bed. “Vampires? Really? Teenaged girl vampires? Come here, would you?” Steve started, taking a moment to figure out that Natasha meant her before she obediently stepped over, letting Natasha hold an a-line skirt in a soft, full cotton to her hips. “Clint, green or red?”

“Green,” Clint said without looking over his shoulder. “It’ll look really cute with the nude pumps, and I’ll do a nude eye, too.” He began pulling out palettes and then frowned at Steve. “Come here for a moment?”

Steve stepped from Natasha towards Clint, baffled at being passed off like this. “Uh, yeah?” Clint took her hand and drew several lines on her hand with lipstick. He hummed thoughtfully under his breath. “Yeah, definitely the berry pink, don’t you think?” He showed Steve’s hand to Natasha, who agreed. “Alright, there we go!” He took a little makeup remover and scrubbed at Steve’s hand. “You doing okay so far, Steve? Let us know if you get overwhelmed, we kinda get gung-ho about all this.”

Steve blinked at him, and then nodded. “Yeah. I - yeah.” She smiled a little. “It’s kind of nice, actually. It reminds me of Rebecca.” At their confusion, she explained, “Rebecca Barnes. Bucky’s little sister. She always had a dozen friends around her, laughing and discussing the latest prints and fashions. When she was a kid, she used to try and rope us into letting her do our makeup for practice. Bucky usually said no, but I…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “Anyways, Bucky saved up all the money he could for six months to get her a pair of real silk stockings for her sixteenth birthday, and she went out dancing in them that night for a few hours.” She smiled fondly. She could remember Bucky glowering at every boy who’d come close to her, but Steve had watched her steps across the dance floor like she might learn them via osmosis. “I was a little envious of her, to be honest. She was a real looker, always laughing and having fun in fashionable skirts, always trying out the newest styles. I used to watch how she moved, how she walked. Used to do the same thing with my mom, actually, when I was a child, even before I meet Rebecca. I think I knew even back then.” Rebecca had died a few years back; Bucky’s parents had been gone long before, but he still ought to have some nieces and nephews. Maybe he’d want to meet them someday.

“Well, you’re going to be the real looker today,” Clint insisted. “Anyone would be proud to, uh, go out walking with you on their arm, sugar.” He batted his lashes at Steve, startling a laugh out of her. “See? This should be fun!” He grinned at her. “Let’s get you into your stockings, garters, and bra. Natasha will help you arrange your chicken cutlets.”

“My _what_?”

Natasha smacked Clint upside his head. He muttered something under his breath, so Natasha smacked him again for good measure and Clint snickered. “Your breasts. He’s just being an immature asshole.” She led Steve to the bathroom, underthings in hand while Clint kept laughing softly. Natasha rolled her eyes, and turned away while Steve pulled on the underwear, garters, and stockings, fastening them correctly, and hooked the bra on. Things were moving so quickly that Steve ought to have felt overwhelmed; instead, she felt on top of things for once, felt like she could handle the lightning-fast punches being thrown at her.

“I’m good,” Steve said, and Natasha turned, nodding briskly.

“Excellent. Now let’s get these arranged properly.” She held up the silicone breasts and then offered them to Steve. She touched them tentatively. They were cool to the touch, and appeared to be filled with some sort of gel. She squeezed them, lightly at first and then harder, making a considering noise under her breath. Interesting. Strange, but she could already see how they’d fit, and they probably wouldn’t be uncomfortable against her skin, either. Soft fabric curved along the inside edge, so that they’d be comfortable against any skin they touched. “These aren’t quite the right size for you,” Natasha explained as Steve handed the false breasts back. “We’ll have to get you ones that will fill out your bras properly, but these will at least do in a pinch for now.” She put them in properly, although they gaped a little in Steve’s bra, just as Natasha had warned. “Hm, it’s not going to stand up for more than a few hours but it’ll be good enough for now. Like I said, we’ll get you ones that are going to fill your bras better.”

She took a step back, and gestured to the mirror. “What do you think?”

Steve turned, gazing at herself in the mirror - and her lips parted. It wasn’t a perfect transformation by any means, as the cups of her bra still weren’t sitting quite right without the weight of breasts within them, and the soft silk of her panties didn’t quite sit around her cock properly, but the wide straps of the bra and the frills to the garter that sat on her hips somehow made the ratio between the two less noticeable. She didn’t quite look like a man playing dress-up, but instead looked closer to a masculine woman. A woman with slim hips and broad shoulders, yes, but still a woman. She cleared her throat twice before she managed to speak. “Thank you, Natasha.  This is - everything.”

Natasha shrugged. “Don’t thank me. This is just the beginning, and Clint and I are glad to help.” She stood next to Steve and smiled at their reflections in the mirror. “Truly, it’s our honor. Don’t ever doubt that. We’re a team, aren’t we? That means two things. We always argue over who gets the last glass in a bottle of wine before agreeing to split it, and we hunt down and brutally murder anyone who stabs our friends in the back.”

Without giving Steve the chance to respond - probably not a bad thing, because Steve couldn’t tell whether she was joking or not - Natasha tugged her back out by the wrist to the bedroom, where Clint was on the bed, watching the movie as his hands moved to select brushes, the purposes of which Steve couldn’t guess. Catching sight of them from the corner of his eye, he pointed to the clothing which had been carefully laid over the back of a chair. “I changed out the shirt, Nat. I think it’ll work better, don’t you?”

Natasha regarded it skeptically for a moment, and then made a face. Steve didn’t see much of a difference between the pale blue blouse with white polka dots and the button-down with fine blue pinstripes, but she trusted Clint’s eye; if he said the blouse would work better, Steve was willing to believe him. “Fine, but if it doesn’t go, then I’m going to change it.”

Clint stuck his tongue out at her, and then turned his gaze to Steve. “By the way, I brought some wigs. Did you want to try one on? Or are you okay with your natural hair length? What about hair color? I have one in blond, but I’ve also got one in a sort of strawberry blond and a dark brown. You don’t have to, but I figured it might help when you look in the mirror.”

Steve smiled shyly. “That actually sounds kind of nice? Can we wait, though? I want to see what it all looks like without it first. To see if - if it works.” If this this whole thing even could work.

Clint nodded. “Yeah, of course. Now get your blouse on first, so that we don’t mess up your makeup, okay?” He’d chosen a top that was deliberately a little flowy, so that when Steve pulled it on, it would soften her thick muscles without attempting to hide them completely. Steve should always be proud of her strength, and seeing her strong forearms appear beneath the three-quarter sleeves made her smile.. “See, Nat? I told you. Now skirt.”

“It looks good on you, Steve,” Natasha admitted as Steve pulled up the skin and buttoned it on the side. “That shade of blue is definitely your color. Wait, no, no peeking just yet, we want you to see the final product.” She gestured for Steve to sit in the chair in front of Clint.

Clint began to narrate as he spoke. “Alright, first thing’s first, close your eyes, you don’t have much redness, so we’re just going to start with a light liquid foundation, alright? Also, good work on the shave, it’s a nice clean job. Bet it helps that you’re a natural blond, right?” He waggled his brows a little before squeezing out a little of the foundation and dabbing it on Steve’s skin. He brushed the foundation across Steve’s skin in little circles so that it would spread evenly. “Yeah, this is just the right match. Okay, next is going to be some blush, in this nude peach color, okay?” He took a big powder brush and began to move it across the apples of Steve’s cheeks and then back towards her hairline. “It’ll go well with the pumps you’ll be wearing, too, since they’re a peach-toned nude.” He moved it across Steve’s cheeks, and followed it up with a little bronzer to add a bit of color and warmth.

“See?” Natasha said smugly, lounging on the bed. “This is exactly why I made Clint come along. He likes to say things like ‘peach-toned nude’ while my vocabulary is limited to questions such as, ‘How well can I run in those heels’ and ‘the target loves a little black dress’.” She grinned. “Whereas Clint is going to be able to get everything to match.”

Clint looked affronted. “Never match, Natasha. It should all go.”

Steve couldn’t decipher the difference, and from Natasha’s heavy sigh, neither could she.

“Anyways,” Clint said with an annoyed little huff, “I’m almost done, alright? I wanted to keep today’s look nice and simple. Now’s the time for your eyes. This is always the part that sucks the most, because people tend to get jumpy when things touch their eye without them expecting it. So close your eyes, and I’ll give you fair warning.” He hummed a bit and then said, “Actually, Natasha, hand me the tweezers? I want to do a touch of clean-up.” Natasha handed them over, while Steve jerked away, giving Clint a look. “It’ll be fine, okay? I’ll leave them just the right mix of manly and feminine, okay?”

Steve nodded unhappily, and only hissed a little when Clint spent several minutes tugging out stray hairs. “There we go, much better. Much cleaner set of brows.” He hummed thoughtfully under his breath. “I’ll show you how to do it afterwards, okay? Anyways, back to eyeshadow. Now this is my favorite neutral palette, okay? I’m going to start with a highlight right beneath your brow, to make your eyes look larger and more open.” He used a broad brush to pick up some soft powder with a slight gold shimmer, saying, “I’m about to touch your eye,” before highlighting under Steve’s brow in a quick, broad sweep. “Next is going to be a soft taupe with peachy undertones. I’m going to keep it simple for today, just the two colors. The brown shades are going to bring out the blue in your eyes.”

Natasha tucked her toes underneath Steve’s thigh. “Just let it all wash over you. Clint likes to talk while he works. I’ve stopped paying attention. He’s got an eye for color, though. He’s like, I don’t know, queer eye for the straight guy and all that. Uh. Queer eye for the genderfluid guy and straight girl.” She smirked. “You know. Either way.”

Clint snorted. “Keep your eyes closed, Steve, until I tell you otherwise. I’m not going to do eyeliner, but I will put on a touch of mascara, okay? We’ll do it the easy way for now, although it won’t do as good a job as if your eyes were opened.” He brushed the black mascara over Steve’s criminally long lashes, and then said, “Okay. Open ‘em up.”

Steve opened her eyes, and both Natasha and Clint smiled at her: long, slow, warm smiles that seemed as surprised as they were delighted.

Natasha leaned in and kissed Steve’s cheek. “Beautiful,” she whispered. “Truly. Thank you, for letting us see you.”

Clint squeezed Steve’s hand. “Want to see it, doll? It’s about time you had the chance to see how gorgeous you are in your own skin.”

Steve nodded, throat too tight to speak. She turned, going to stand in front of her bureau and - and -

She looked lovely. Somehow Clint had emphasized her big, blue eyes, and the soft skirt and blouse softened her muscles without making them disappear. Even her blond hair looked the kind of stylishly short she’d seen on other women on the street. She looked lovely.

Bucky’s face in the mirror behind her crooked in a slow smile. “Hey there, sugar. Looking real swell.”

Steve panicked and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

~*~

“Any time you want to talk, I’m here. You tell me that all the time, right?” Bucky voice was low and coaxing, sweet. Steve’s heart hammered in her chest as she pressed a fist to her mouth and pressed her back against the bathroom door. She shook. Everything was ruined, it was all ruined. Bucky’d seen her - him - dressed up like, like _this_. “It’s okay if you’re afraid. But Stevie, this isn’t a secret worth being afraid of keeping, and a _hell_ of a lot better than pretty much everything I’ve done in the last seventy five years. Trust me. I’m here for you. Now, and always. Someday… Someday, I hope you’ll accept that.”

That thump had to be Bucky’s forehead hitting the door. “I know you keep trying to hide shit from me about what we were, how we loved each other. It wasn’t just best friends. I’m not an idiot. God, Stevie, I’m not an idiot, I mean it. I see the way you look at me even now, and though I don’t remember everything, I remember enough. I remember that look, like I hung the moon and painted the stars all for you. And I did. I’d still do anything for you, Stevie. I’ll always be fucked up, but that doesn’t mean I ever stopped wanting you, needing you. That look of yours? It means everything. I just wish you could see the way I’ve always, _always_ looked right back at you.”

~*~

“You have a moment?” Steve said, wringing his hands as he hovered in the doorway. This was the first time he’d been in the same room as Bucky for nearly a week, and he felt positively sick at the notion of taking that final step into the room. He’d owed Bucky an explanation for far too long, however. He managed a smile, but from Bucky’s face, it wasn’t a very good one. “Sorry. I just. Um. I guess we should talk.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” he murmured, scooting over on the couch and patting the cushions. “You know, you don’t have to look like you swallowed a lemon.” He lifted some papers from the table next to the couch. “Natasha and Clint are pretty protective of you, you know? You’ve got some really incredible friends who want you to be happy. It really is a brand new world. Fairies - sorry - ” he amended instantly, rueful smile on his face, “that’s not right, those of the LGBTQA community, they can get married. They - we - can serve openly. We can live the lives we always dreamed about when we were two idiot kids in Brooklyn, the lives we thought were ridiculous and way out of our reach.” He shrugged. “But they exist. There’s hope. And you and I both knew guys who dressed up like they were dolls. So I guess it’s not that weird that they have words for it now, that they respect it now. Not everyone, not always, but…” He shrugged again.

Steve moved slowly to the couch, curling up. His feet pressed to Bucky’s, a faint hint of heat that warmed the deepest parts of Steve’s heart. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I was pretty surprised about that too, when I woke up again. I didn’t think it would even be possible, but - but here we are. I guess it’s not any less possible than spending almost seventy years in the ice, or having you survive HYDRA, or gaining a metal arm, or hell, having things like the Helicarrier flying around like it’s nothing. The future is full of a lot of crazy things. This - this isn’t so crazy in comparison.”

“No. It’s not,” Bucky agreed. He grabbed Steve’s hand and squeezed it, smiling. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

Steve took a little, shuddering breath. “Yeah, I guess I should.” He stopped, chewing on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Okay, so, so, I just… You know those guys who used to get all dolled up like they were a dame ready for a night out on the town? They’d do the whole thing, move like a woman, laugh like one, get a wig and do pin curls just right. They’d go out with their partners, if they could. They looked like naturals. Some of ‘em, some of ‘em did it because it felt like a thrill, I think. A guy dressing up as a gal and all that. Some did it because it made them feel good - pretty, sexy, like something worth looking at. I… That’s what I pretended. That it was just a little fling, nothing wrong - or, well, not more wrong than being with another man - you know what I mean, just…”

“I know. I lived it too,” Bucky reminded, smiling. “Take it slow, and if it gets to be too much, there’s no one and nothing telling you that you gotta spill it all now, okay?” He pulled Steve close, and Steve went, letting Bucky wrap his arms around Steve’s body like they were twelve and Steve was sick and Bucky was gonna tell him a story.

Steve took a deep breath. “Yeah. I pretended it was just a bit of fun with you, but it wasn’t. Sometimes, it was the only way I felt real. Like there was a dame inside of me that wanted to go out dancing, sometimes. That wanted to be called yours whenever we went out. Being called your girl, your pretty little thing, all of it, it made me feel right. Like something broken inside me had gotten fixed, and it would go away for a while. Sometimes just a few days, sometimes for a month or two. It was easier to pretend than to give in to that feeling, though, easier to pretend that I didn’t feel like I was a woman inside.” He licked his lips.

“Natasha, she called it genderfluid, the whole, sometimes I feel like a woman, sometimes like a man. That’s why… I thought since this was the future, it couldn’t hurt to have a secret just for me. Natasha figured it out, though, and it started to get really bad, I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror, didn’t want to listen to my own voice. I tried to focus on you, getting you healthy, but then I’d find myself watching a woman walk down the street and try to mimic her gait. I gave in, but it all looked like a guy wearing a skirt for the laugh. So I asked Natasha and Clint for help. I didn’t even really want them seeing me, so when you showed up, without any warning, I…”

“You freaked out.” Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, a comforting touch. Steve found his shoulders relaxing. “I get that, I really do. My therapist calls it body dysmorphia, when I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and it’s like looking at a stranger. Sounds like you’ve got a bit of that too.”

Steve nodded. “Natasha and Sam also called it a bit of gender dysmorphia, too, when I was, well, freaking out at them this week, trying to figure out what I was supposed to say to you. Probably a combination of both, honestly.” Talking about this, with Bucky warm and solid all around him felt, if not good, at least cleansing. Like he’d finally lifted the weight from his chest. “So you don’t mind?” His voice cracked a little, and he cringed.

“Stevie,” Bucky began, laughing, but there was a serious undertone to his voice, “you’re talking to someone who spent years as an assassin, his humanity ripped away, not even knowing his own name. There are secrets about me that even I don’t know, and I won’t know until something triggers me. I’m going to spend the rest of my life waiting for that shoe to fall, waiting to be held properly accountable for what I did.”

“Bucky.”

He rolled his eyes, “Fine, what HYDRA did with my body. The point still stands. It’s my hands that took away daughters and brothers and friends and any hope for the future. You sometimes feeling like a woman inside, far as I see, that’s no one’s business but your own, not if you don’t want it to be. You’re still my Stevie, whether it’s in a flashy skirt or a tie. It doesn’t hurt anyone, it doesn’t diminish anyone, it doesn’t - it doesn’t do anything except make you feel like you.” Bucky smiled sadly, and tilted Steve’s head back. He leaned in, and Steve’s heart beat triple time.

They were close enough to kiss.

“And you is all I’ve ever wanted.”

Steve shut his eyes, and closed that gap with the same faith in Bucky he’d fostered since he was six years old.

~*~

Clint came to Steve and Bucky’s apartment armed with his entire makeup kit and pointed an enormous fluffy brush at Steve’s face. “I am going to teach you how to do all of this,” he muttered. “Seriously, it is a pain in the ass to haul this everywhere. _Seriously_. We’re going to Sephora this weekend, I’ll get you started. Ten o’clock. Saturday. My place. Or I’ll sic Natasha on you. Now. What’s the first rule?”

Steve grinned, and stepped aside to let Clint in. “Frame the face.”

~*~

“You know, I really meant to ask, do you want a different name? When you’re like this?” Bucky asked, gesturing vaguely from Steve’s soft flats up to her thick sweater. “Or is Steve okay? I just realized I’ve been calling you that all evening, and one of the pamphlets I read said you might want to differentiate between the two with two different names. Since you didn’t mention it, I figured you were okay, but then I got to wondering if maybe you thought you’d already used up all my understanding.”

She hummed a little under her breath, feeling warm and full of food, and grabbed Bucky’s hand. “No, I’ve always been Steve, no matter how I’m feeling,” she said. “Stevie works just as well. You used to call me that a lot when I got dolled up for you. Either way, I’m happy so long as it’s you that’s saying my name.”

Even in the dim evening light, Steve could see Bucky’s flush. “Sap. You really haven’t changed. I do remember calling you that, though. Not just Stevie, I used to call you all sorts of nicknames. My dame, sweet as candy, an armful of sugar, my pretty little thing.” His glance darted up, and Steve’s own cheeks heated in response. Those words still sent a thrill down her spine. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say you still like those old endearments.” He let go of Steve’s hand, but wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her close, possessive. Steve didn’t fight it for an instant.

“Yeah, Buck, I like those old names, even if they aren’t really fitting anymore.” She glanced ruefully down at Bucky’s arm. “You may be stronger, but I’m a lot more than an armful, and a pretty little thing? Hardly. It takes a lot more work now to feel like a proper lady, and I’m nowhere close to being the sort of delicate woman who looks like she’s been made of spun sugar and smiles.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Bucky asked, perplexed. “I’m not looking for a dame who’s going to blow away in a stiff breeze. I never have. I mean, I haven’t even looked for a dame in years because I had you. Did you really think that you not being tiny enough for me to cover completely was going to mean jack shit? I mean, hell, Steve, I spent every spare hour I could proving that I wanted you, that no matter how pissed I was for you signing up for the war, I wasn’t going to let that keep me away, not when we might die at any moment. I’m not looking for that sort of dame, any more than I was looking for that sort of guy. A hundred pounds soaking wet or twice that, it was always you.” He stopped walking, forcing Steve to look at him. People swirled past, and Steve couldn’t look away from Bucky’s grey-blue eyes, so serious.

“I don’t think I ever told you. That fight we had, on the bridge. I knew you. Some part of me knew you.” Bucky reached up with his metal hand and cupped Steve’s face. Steve closed her eyes, struggling to breathe normally. “You saw the kind of damage they left behind. It took practically shearing apart my long-term memory center and rewiring my brain with years of torture and programming to get rid of you, and even then, watching you fall…” A soft kiss made Steve’s eyes open again, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. “Hey, no, baby, don’t ruin your makeup for me,” Bucky teased lightly. He wiped away the tears with cool, slick metal, and then smiled. “And even then, watching you fall, a part of me that even I thought was gone said, ‘No. That’s not my mission. That’s _Steve_ ’.” The yearning in Bucky’s voice made Steve grab hold of him and kiss him, deep and hard and searing hot, uncaring of who saw.

They broke apart, breathing heavily. “That’s Steve,” Bucky repeated, smiling. “That means that you’re my best friend and my brother and my lover, and yeah, you’re my armful of sugar and my pretty little thing.” He winked. “Especially today. You look good enough to gobble up, Stevie, and you are definitely the prettiest little thing I’ve seen all night.” Bucky leered.

Steve laughed, her voice a little unsteady from the light-headedness and flush that left her shivering. “Good to know. I don’t know about you, but I’d really, _really_ like to take this home, Buck. You just, you gotta let me know if it’s too much, because I never stopped wanting you. Never stopped missing you. Never stopped loving you.”

This time, it was Bucky who kissed Steve like he was dying. Steve never hesitated, letting Bucky crowd her against a brick wall so that he could steal her breath right out of her lungs and leave her panting and half-hard in her skirt.

“I’m going to take you home,” Bucky growled, “flip up that skirt, and eat you out until you come for me, nothing more than my tongue and my fingers.” He slid a thigh between hers, giving her something to grind against. “How’s that sound, Stevie?” He nipped her lower lip for good measure.

Steve groaned, and then grabbed Bucky’s hand, all but running home.

They nearly killed themselves trying to get up Steve’s apartment stairs without tripping on one another or letting go of each other, constantly trying to steal kisses and touches, Bucky’s hand even daringly slid up her skirt to give her cock a little squeeze. When Steve gasped, Bucky pressed a smile to Steve’s throat and whispered, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m going to make you feel so good it hurts. I’m so excited to lick you open, too, I bet you’ll make the prettiest sounds.” He kissed and sucked along Steve’s throat. “Sweeter than pure sugar, and so eager for it. I can’t fucking wait.”

Steve’s hands kneaded Bucky’s ass, always pulling him closer. “Such a sweet-talker,” she murmured. “But we gotta get upstairs before I can give you what you want.” She laughed as Bucky muttered a few curses before making it the rest of the way up the last flight of stairs and to her front door. Bucky plastered himself against her back, cock sliding against her ass through their clothes while Steve fumbled at the door.

They all but fell through when it opened unexpectedly, and they giggled, letting themselves get tangled together like they were drunk, but their smiles were by far the more potent. “Bed, definitely a bed, it’s been _so_ damn long since I’ve seen you naked, Stevie, my pretty little thing, I want to taste you, see if it’s even better’n I remember.” They kissed as they walked, leaving a trail of clothing behind them and delighting in each new bit of skin revealed - although Bucky did stare at Steve’s stockings, and his panties with a look that all but swore, “Next time”. For now, though, being naked took precedence. Steve’s knees went embarrassingly weak when her skirt fell to the floor and Bucky squeezed her cock with just the right edge of pain. She got her revenge whens she pinched one of Bucky’s nipples and he swayed towards her, pupils blown out huge and hungry.

They fell into bed together, Bucky pushing Steve towards her hands and knees, saying, “Come on, Stevie, I’ve gotta taste you, don’t leave me starving here,” while Steve moaned, “Yeah, come on, Buck. I’m ready for you, it’s been so damn long,” and they simply touched for a moment, hands sliding over each other, indulgent and warm and breathtaking.

“I love you, you know,” Steve whispered, resting their foreheads together, and happiness licked across her skin like fire, burning away all her fears for a time. “More than anyone I’ve ever known.” She huffed a laugh. “I know you don’t believe in God, Buck, but I don’t see how else this could have worked out. I survived, and so did you, and we _found_ each other. Buck, we found each other.”

Bucky’s smooth tongue failed him, and he kissed her again, letting their lips meet and transform into something so much more complex than mere words could allow for. This time, when he urged Steve to her hands and knees, she went. “Gonna make you feel so good,” he swore. “My pretty little thing.”

Steve’s lips parted on a shocked sound when Bucky’s fingers held her open and his tongue slid over her hole. Anything she might have said disappeared from her mind and her fingers curled into the sheets and another wordless plea left her lips. His tongue flicked over her hole again, wetting it further, coaxing her to open up, to let him make her feel so good. Steve had to squeeze her eyes shut as the sensations rocked her; Bucky, of course, smiled smugly - she could feel it pressed against her ass for a moment before he started to lick her more steadily, tongue occasionally dipping inside her, just enough to leave her about to beg for more.

Steve’s cock hung heavy and hard between her legs, precome already starting to gather at the tip and drop down to the sheets. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this desperate, squirming back against Bucky’s tongue. “Come on, Bucky, open me up,” she pleaded. “I need you.”

As though she’d spoken some magic word - as though her caving enough to beg wouldn’t have done it - Bucky’s tongue began to thrust in earnest, twisting and curling inside her, lighting up sensitive nerves that she hadn’t even been aware were there. Warm, rough fingers tugged at her rim, Bucky’s tongue getting them soaked, too, and Steve had to drop down to her forearms so that she could muffle a cry. She was so wet, positively fucking dripping from her ass and her cock, the need winding tight inside her.

Bucky’s mouth pulled away, and heat brushed over her skin, curling across all the places Bucky’s tongue had been. His fingers kept massaging as he crooned, “That’s right, open up for me, gorgeous. I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, there isn’t a dame on this planet that’s as beautiful as you, or as sweet. Not even candy has anything on you, not rich, dark chocolate, not spun sugar, not anything I’ve ever tasted. It’s just you, Stevie, so damn pretty it hurts.”

Steve laughed, or maybe sobbed, but either way it felt so good, like light bursting free of her. “You’re such a goddamn tease, Bucky,” she gasped, voice catching as two of his fingers slipped inside her, curling dextrously and making her cry out again, high and a little shocked, when they brushed her prostate.

"It’s only teasing if I don’t intend to deliver,” Bucky corrected. “I plan to deliver. I _definitely_ plan to deliver. More than once tonight, actually, if I can help it.” Then, before Steve had the chance to answer, Bucky twisted his fingers again, and fuck, _fuck_ , pleasure lit Steve up from head to toes, leaving her gasping and squirming back again, the need turning into something imminent.

“I’m close,” she warned, or perhaps begged. “Buck,  _please_ , fuck, fuck, I’m so damn close!” Make that definitely begging. She was definitely begging, pleading, imploring, damn close to fucking  _praying_ for him to give him that little more she needed.

“I’ve got you, Stevie,” he promised, and then his tongue joined his fingers again, twisting in patterns she couldn’t anticipate, not with her brain so frazzled and desperate, pleasure building hot and tight within her. “I’ve got you,” he repeated in a mumble, as much to himself as her, and if her heart could have broken further open, it would have.

“I know, I know, Buck, we made it, remember? Both of us together, we made it, you’re here, you’re making me feel so good, opening me up so sweet, I love you so damn much. I love you.” She drew in a breath, trembling. “You’ve got me, and I love you.”

Steve lost track of pretty much everything except Bucky’s praise and reassurances, his tongue and teeth and fingers moving across her skin, moving inside her, and Bucky kept gasping, “So pretty, so sweet, my _gorgeous_ girl, how am I so _lucky_ as to have a pretty little thing like _you_ to love,” and Steve _lost it_ between one heartbeat and the next, utterly unexpected, coming untouched long and hard across the sheets, dissolving into pure pleasure when Bucky worked her through it, fingers caressing her prostate while his tongue continued to make a mess of her slick, open hole.

She trembled, overwhelmed, and slowly came down to earth with Bucky still breathing compliments like he needed to say them before it was too late, words practically tripping over themselves. “That’s right, you’re my dame, no one else’s, and you’re so gorgeous that you practically hurt to look at, and spun sugar ain’t got _nothing_ on you - ”

“Buck,” Steve rasped, just barely shifting enough to glance up over her shoulder at Bucky. His cheeks were flushed scarlet, pupils huge and hungry, and he kept staring at her like if he blinked, she’d disappear. “Come on,” she urged. “I know you, Bucky, know you inside and out. I want you to come.”

He blinked at her, and it took a precious second for him to focus on meeting her eyes. He smiled crookedly. “I’m not going to last. I’m going to get inside you and come like a teenager.” Steve twisted more, and sure enough, his cock was practically drooling in his hand, throbbing with need.

“S’okay,” she assured, smiling a little. “It’s not like I’m going to be worried about you lasting long enough to make me come - you already did that. Fuck me, Bucky. Fuck me, let me blow you, hell, just let me get my hands all over you, I don’t care. I just want you to come.” She grinned up at him, delight sparkling in her tone. “I want you to come, handsome, come on me, dirty me up, because I’m not a nice girl, even though I may be gorgeous.” She waggled her ass a little for good measure, and Bucky made a noise like he’d been electrocuted. Steve grinned wider, and purred, “You made a mess of me; if you hadn’t gotten those panties off me, I bet I would have ruined them, you got me so wet - ”

“Shit fuck _Stevie_ ,” Bucky moaned, high and a little shocked, and then hot spunk hit Steve’s ass as he worked himself through his orgasm, looking utterly dazed. Steve tucked that look away as a thought for next time.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, batting her lashes, and Bucky laughed breathlessly and toppled down to the sheets, tangling himself instantly with Steve and kissing her. Unlike before, these were drowsy, sated kisses, the kind that spoke of forever. Steve held them close - held Bucky close - and smiled into their next kiss.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” Bucky muttered, but he grinned too, running his hands over Steve’s body, memorizing it all over again. “I love you, you know that, right? No matter what.” He gazed at her, hope in his expression. So much hope, a rare commodity, but one Steve adored when she saw it on Bucky’s features.

Steve nodded, throat tight. “I love you too.” They couldn’t get any closer, they really couldn’t, and yet they were, they were trying to climb into each other’s skin, hold each other’s heart, taste each other’s breath. “Always have, Buck. _Always_.”

In answer, Bucky pushed the sheet out from under them as best he could, pulled up the comforter, and wrapped Steve up tight, so that no one could tell where one of them ended and the other began.

Steve smiled into their next kiss. Business as usual, then.

**Author's Note:**

> For teacup_of_doom - you know why.
> 
> This fic was absolutely inspired by the Transvengers Initiative, which is possible one of my favorites to date. Thank you for all the inspiration. For anyone else out there, join me on [tumblr](http://rustingroses.tumblr.com/). Drop me a line whenever you'd like.
> 
> You're not alone <3


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